( every mirror Ben has seen since has carried the messily etched words, thank you. he might have replied, if he'd had anything to carve with. it can't be said that days went by with him finding nothing suitable, not while the dull sun sits on the horizon line like it went to enter a different room but forgot what it was going for. in this unending stretch of time, immeasurable to him lest Ben decides to manually count every single second that transpires while he remains here...he hasn't found anything suitable to scratch a responding message into any mirrored surface he comes across, finding those two familiar words.
the longer he goes without seeing someone else, whether it be the man he encountered or a new stranger, the words turn his stomach colder, harder. it's a sort of longing that Ben used to tune out with some ease, the kind that comes from being stubborn. the kind that acclimates to something lacking, missing.
Ben came across one mirror recently, which shattered after a brief encounter with a shadow-thing. he felt silly for the hope, the curiosity, but as the shards melted away on the ground like liquid mercury, Ben did find one piece of the mirror with those words — only part of the very rough and geometric 'u' at the end of 'you' was clipped off, but remained the only casualty. the mirror piece seemed content to stay structured as solid glass after being removed from the ground. into his briefcase it went.
while this place feels unexpectedly magnetic to him, as if it exists and brought him here for some intentful purpose, Ben can't say it feels accommodating or welcoming — the terrain changes too much for him to grow comfortable within it. Ben can travel contently, but he can't stay in one spot for too long, before it shifts, melds, or sends him somewhere new. doors don't always lead to the same room twice. quite dreadful.
and something in Ben's bones can't quite...sit still, under the tensely humming sensation that comes with being alone. it puts him back up on his tired feet, sending him out again, looking for something.
this structure is like a cathedral in size, and whatever designs it may have had carved or sculpted to it are smoothed over as if painted with mud. the rooms are numerous, which has Ben testing the logic of them, opening and shutting doors to see where they will lead, or what he may find behind them.
a strange groaning rumbles above his head, pinning a stillness through Ben's body. coming back up a hallway he'd descended through, his eyes round inspectingly as he gazes across the large, non-descript space littered in odds and ends. the sound grows louder, wider, as if expanding, just before a thundering crack rings overhead.
it sends Ben temporarily ducking back, as broken wood clatters from overhead, which finally gives him his clue. he peers up, high enough to see the stairs having come apart, with long and melty pieces of wood raining down too close to his person for his pleasure. Ben yelps shortly to himself, dodging the detritus while trying desperately to peer out and look at it. melted wood...because, of course it is.
but there is a new sound now, through the resettling silence. fizzled, popping...vocal. Ben straightens up from the ground, alert, and uncertain. he hears...words. Ben hears someone talking. )
—H-hello? ( Ben scrambles about the destruction, laid thinly over a bare floor, which doesn't look very promising all of a sudden. he hears someone, but from where? he dives into a heap of fractured furniture, useless objects, tossing things aside as he goes. it sounds like a radio, Ben thinks hurriedly, hands pushing rubbish aside. ) Yes, hello? Damn it, where are you... ( Ben knows how radios work, mostly from films, and he's suddenly hoping that like with guns, the depictions are wrong. the person on the other end can't hear him, unless he finds it and clicks the button on the receiver himself. he doesn't know how much patience this other person has while Ben rifles desperately through the waste, looking for a radio he didn't even know existed until right now.
and Ben especially won't find it so easily if he doesn't have someone to guide him toward it. )
no subject
the longer he goes without seeing someone else, whether it be the man he encountered or a new stranger, the words turn his stomach colder, harder. it's a sort of longing that Ben used to tune out with some ease, the kind that comes from being stubborn. the kind that acclimates to something lacking, missing.
Ben came across one mirror recently, which shattered after a brief encounter with a shadow-thing. he felt silly for the hope, the curiosity, but as the shards melted away on the ground like liquid mercury, Ben did find one piece of the mirror with those words — only part of the very rough and geometric 'u' at the end of 'you' was clipped off, but remained the only casualty. the mirror piece seemed content to stay structured as solid glass after being removed from the ground. into his briefcase it went.
while this place feels unexpectedly magnetic to him, as if it exists and brought him here for some intentful purpose, Ben can't say it feels accommodating or welcoming — the terrain changes too much for him to grow comfortable within it. Ben can travel contently, but he can't stay in one spot for too long, before it shifts, melds, or sends him somewhere new. doors don't always lead to the same room twice. quite dreadful.
and something in Ben's bones can't quite...sit still, under the tensely humming sensation that comes with being alone. it puts him back up on his tired feet, sending him out again, looking for something.
this structure is like a cathedral in size, and whatever designs it may have had carved or sculpted to it are smoothed over as if painted with mud. the rooms are numerous, which has Ben testing the logic of them, opening and shutting doors to see where they will lead, or what he may find behind them.
a strange groaning rumbles above his head, pinning a stillness through Ben's body. coming back up a hallway he'd descended through, his eyes round inspectingly as he gazes across the large, non-descript space littered in odds and ends. the sound grows louder, wider, as if expanding, just before a thundering crack rings overhead.
it sends Ben temporarily ducking back, as broken wood clatters from overhead, which finally gives him his clue. he peers up, high enough to see the stairs having come apart, with long and melty pieces of wood raining down too close to his person for his pleasure. Ben yelps shortly to himself, dodging the detritus while trying desperately to peer out and look at it. melted wood...because, of course it is.
but there is a new sound now, through the resettling silence. fizzled, popping...vocal. Ben straightens up from the ground, alert, and uncertain. he hears...words. Ben hears someone talking. )
—H-hello? ( Ben scrambles about the destruction, laid thinly over a bare floor, which doesn't look very promising all of a sudden. he hears someone, but from where? he dives into a heap of fractured furniture, useless objects, tossing things aside as he goes. it sounds like a radio, Ben thinks hurriedly, hands pushing rubbish aside. ) Yes, hello? Damn it, where are you... ( Ben knows how radios work, mostly from films, and he's suddenly hoping that like with guns, the depictions are wrong. the person on the other end can't hear him, unless he finds it and clicks the button on the receiver himself. he doesn't know how much patience this other person has while Ben rifles desperately through the waste, looking for a radio he didn't even know existed until right now.
and Ben especially won't find it so easily if he doesn't have someone to guide him toward it. )